Pumpkin Pie in the American Diaspora

A Cantabrigian Thanksgiving, retrospective continued.

This is the beauty that delivered me from the Pumpkin Pie desert in Cambridge. Such sweet goodness.

They laughed at the mention of pumpkin pie. A sweetened squash pie? What is that?! The same attitude primes the supermarkets to be prominently lacking of pumpkin-in-a-can and frozen pumpkin in Cambridge. I searched far and wide and, to my dismay, found neither. There were only fresh pumpkins, and even these were leftovers from Halloween, which is the only time where pumpkin pie is deemed "appropriate" in the local frame of reference.

Above all, some even took this further: by telling me that pumpkins are not for eating, only decoration, i.e. the carving of Jack o' Lanterns. I begged to differ, and engaged in discourse about the varieties of pumpkins, and how some are selected for carving, e.g. the large, watery-fleshed ones classically grown for carving and their seeds, and others, e.g. the small, round sugar pumpkins, are meant for eating. Elaborating that pumpkin can be prepared savory, e.g. in soups and raviolis, or sweet, as in pumpkin pie, precipitated blank stares.

Unfortunately for most of my friends in Cambridge, the poor example at Downing's Formal Hall was the first pumpkin pie that they had ever had. This immediately made clear to me that I had to intervene. The intervention serves a triple purpose: 1) I crave pumpkin pie, 2) I was remiss in the complete absence of pumpkin pie on Turkey Day, and 3) I had to prove that pumpkin pie is, in fact, *good*. Thus, I embarked on my mission to make pumpkin pie in Cantabrigia.

Exacerbating the challenge that many of my fellow Cantabrigians had for pumpkin pie was the fact that I was seeking canned pumpkin to make said pie. Most of them scoffed at the very idea of canned pumpkin. I believe they were reacting to their general unfamiliarity with eating pumpkins and the fact that canned vegetables are usually unpalatable. In their view, it is nothing short of ridiculous that I would look for something both strange and assumed-to-be unpalatable, let alone advocate for the wonders of a pie made from this stuff. I promised to change their minds, even potentially to change their lives with *good* pumpkin pie.

Fortunately, I had foresight and purchased a sugar pumpkin right after Halloween. I steamed, mashed, and froze it in anticipation of my craving for pumpkin. I even tried to roasting the seeds, though I literally burnt them to cinders because I was engrossed in an episode of Battle Star Gallactica when I was doing this. That aside, the frozen pumpkin did the trick -- not did it spare my friends from the horrors of canned vegetables, but provided the necessary ingredient to make what I believe to be one of the best pies on earth.

To change their minds, I posted a general message on Facebook about the availability of pumpkin pie, and made a small party of it. Seven people came over to St. Peter's Terrace, where my flat is, and tasted the thing. To their surprised, they found the juxtaposition of a smooth, spiced, almost-custard-like pumpkin filling with a delicately constructed fine-crumbed crust "very good," if not "delicious." Though I am unsure if my friends are convinced about the goodness of pumpkin, I hope I drove home the message that pumpkin pie, at the very least, is great stuff.

Lastly, as many furrowed brows as I may have received from seeking the whereabouts of canned pumpkin in England, I certainly raised brows by pointing out that I *did* find canned pumpkin in England. Not only did I find it, but it was in the pantheon of luxury goods at Harrod's, one of the most reputable, high-brow, snooty, overly expensive, extravagant stores in Her Majesty's kingdom.

Canned pumpkin is a luxury by virtue of its place in the Harrod's pantheon.

The proof is in the pudding -- a can of pumpkin in the US is often a little more than a dollar. It often goes on sale for 99¢ around Thanksgiving. But, the apotheosis of canned pumpkin, i.e. when it has a place in the shelves of Harrod's, makes its price inaccessibly high. In this light, one needs to ask if canned pumpkin is actually ambrosia, food of the gods? I see a very strong case for this being the case. Food for thought.

Here's how I made my pie:

1 9" pie plate lined with an all-butter crust*, chilled

preheat oven at 425ºF (218ºC)

Pie Filling:

1/2 cup demerara or brown sugar

1/3 cup white granulated sugar

1 generous tsp. mixed spices (in its absence, use 1 tsp. cinnamon, a pinch of cloves, and 1 pinch of nutmeg)

1/4 tsp. ground ginger

1 1/2 cup double cream (or "heavy cream" in the American vernacular)

4 egg yolks

1/2 tsp salt

1 tsp vanilla extract

1 1/4 cup of pumpkin puree (or 1 can of pumpkin)

1 cup double cream (very cold)

1/4 tsp vanilla extract

1 tsp granulated sugar

whisk these until you get soft peaks when lifting up your fork/whisk from the mixture.

Whisk yolks with sugars until smooth. Then add spices and other solids, mixing until evenly distributed. Finally, add the liquids, mixing until smooth. Pour into chilled crust. Bake for 15 minutes, then lower temperature down to 325ºF (163ºC) for 30-35 minutes, or when the center of the pie is set. Take out of the oven, and let rest for at least 30 minutes before serving. Serve with whipped cream (may be substituted with vanilla ice cream, or maple, cinnamon, butter pecan, caramel or other vanilla-based flavoured ice cream).

*I made the crust with 1 1/2 cups of flour, 1/2 tsp salt, 1 tsp sugar, 1/4 tsp mixed spices, ~400g butter, and 5-7 tsp cold water. I used a fork to "cut" the butter into the flour mixture, until it resembled a course oat meal. Then I added water, little by little, until the dough stuck together. I wrapped it in plastic wrap, and left it to rest in the fridge for about 30 minutes before rolling it out to 1/4" thickness to line the pie plate.

This Thanksgiving, I got Pennied in Cambridge

Happy Belated Thanksgiving, and Black Friday from Cantabrigia!

Above is a plate of goodness at the Thanksgiving luncheon held by the Cambridge Alumni Association and Cambridge in America in the Cambridge University Centre. Note: there is too little cranberry sauce. By the time the bowl got to me, it was practically empty. But, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, at least I had some.     :-|

Turkey day in England was fantastic. It started with an exciting development: my friends, Freja and Stine, flew in from Copenhagen to celebrate the holiday with me! However, I did have to start Thanksgiving by pardoning myself first thing in the morning: I had a supervision to go over the paper that I had just turned-in last week to my supervisor*. Fortunately, it turned out ok. Rather than being damned for turning in crap, I received the following constructive criticism: "it clearly showed thoughtfulness, despite being all over the place." Good. Thanksgiving need not be corroded into a day of worrying and self-flagellation.

The atmosphere was posh -- there were rows of fully set long tables, with wine goblets, bottles of reds and whites in abundance, and a live jazz band. A stage was also set, and the Vice Chancellor, Prof. Alison Richard, gave a speech about the significance of Thanksgiving to her, as someone married to a Wisconsonite (or was that a Michiganian?), as a Cantabrigian, and as one who finds it important to celebrate Thanksgiving wherever she is in the world. Funny enough, it was the Cambridge Alumni Association's Cambridge in America chapter that threw the event, though none of the Cambridge in American group were present, for obvious reasons -- if they're in America, how could they be in Cambridge? (yes, they could be in the other one in Massachusetts, but that is not the point!) However, there was one point that I had to differ with the Vice Chancellor: she said that it was ok NOT to have pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving. Instead, we were met with three delicious slices of other pies:

from right to left: whipped cream, apple pie, raspberry pie, pecan pie. Good as they may be, they're not pumpkin.

Also in attendance at the luncheon was my friend Martin, from Kenya:

As a cherry on top, Martin and I both share the same graduate supervisor.

After the luncheon, Freja, Stine and I went exploring around Cambridge. Martin had to run some errands in town. We explored King's College and Tit Hall (formally known as Trinity Hall).
These places are beautiful.

from left to right: Stine, Freja, Kelvin, along the backs at King's.

A beautiful sunset at Tit Hall.

Tit Hall's Hall, where Formal Hall is served. It was closed, but I had to see it.

The evening sun guilded the chimneys of Tit Hall.

details from the Chapel of Trinity Hall.

To round-off Thanksgiving festivities, we attended Formal Hall at Peterhouse. To make it extra special, I served sherry before dinner in the MCR. Here's a view from Formal Hall, before our food was served:

Because the fellows, including the master, were at High Table, I did not take any pictures of dinner. I did not want to get kicked out of Hall.
:-B

Nevertheless, we did resort to deviant behavior to avoid the College corkage fee, and to this extent, we used our gowns well. I hid one bottle in the long, pocketed sleeve of my gown, and Martin hid the other. To everyone's amusement, the bottle of red that I procured was from the South African vineyard Oxford Landing  (I think it was a Merlot...cannot remember what red it was). I chose it for its high potential to raise brows in Cantabrigia. The bottle may as well have been labelled "Voldemort." Anything with the word "Oxford" in Cantabrigian space is as racy as Yale locks in Harvard. The irony of the Oxford English Dictionary in the Cambridge Library is another fine example. Jokingly, some refused the Oxford Landing. For that, they got pennied**. You can't let the queen drown, so bottoms up!

Though wine was in abundance, there was not any turkey in Formal Hall this Thanksgiving -- they ran out. Instead, we had a beef stew, which was, in all honesty, a good one. But, it simply was not what we had wanted. But I am getting ahead of myself: instead of a soup, which is typically the first course in Formal Hall at Peterhouse, we had a bad Caesar salad. My friends made fun of me that they served a crappy Caesar as a nod to the fact that it was an American holiday. I did not know what to say to that. Then again, caesar salad is fair game as a band aid for a half-baked, if not last-minutedly-thrown-together Thanksgiving party. For dessert, I do not remember what it was, which may be for the better. But, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, we were grateful for what we had to eat. Besides, Thanksgiving is about company, and I could not imagine better to celebrate Thanksgiving with. My dinner party included me, the sole American, a Brit, two German, two Danes, a Kenyan, and a Frenchman. (aside: Strangely, at Cambridge, most of the graduate-student population is coming from outside the UK. Peterhouse already has the highest proportion of British students in its graduate student population than the other colleges.)

We concluded the evening sipping port in the MCR. Instead of the customary toast to the Queen, I raised our glass to the magnanimity of President Obama's presidential pardon for the huge turkey, and hoped that the turkey's life (rumour has it that it's sentenced to a life in Disney World) will not be a living hell (i.e. in a petting zoo, in Disney). We chatted through the evening, with conversation ranging from the future of aristocratic succession in the UK to Lil' Kim. Thankfully, I fell asleep fully sated and well.

Again, Happy Belated Thanksgiving, and, to my American brethren, I hope that your Black Friday was both productive and rewarding. Cheers!

* In Cambridge, students' graduate advisors are called "supervisors." The qualifying conversations, e.g. going over a paper that the student recently submitted, that one has with his/her supervisor are, thus, called "supervisions."

** as was previously mentioned in another entry, to be pennied refers to the drinking game where one must immediately down their glass of wine if an English penny, which has a picture of the queen on it, in order to save her from drowning. Pennies are thrown in unexpectedly. And one MUST comply with the directive to save the queen, from drowning. Alternatively, pennies may be thrown in your dessert, in which the mandate is to save the queen by immediately eating all of your dessert without utensils! Rumour has it that some moronic undergraduates elsewhere in Cambridge pennied Steven Hawking's dessert -- not cool. They were immediately kicked out of Cambridge.

Formal Hall in Peterhouse: Images

Smoked Haddock Kedgeree

There was a recipe for this dish in the British food magazine, Good Food. It is featured as a dish for "festive entertainment."
I decided to give it a shot, especially since smoked fish, in a curry infused rice sounded very good on paper. The recipe called for the use of saffron. In addition to a teaspoon of cayenne pepper and tablespoon of curry powder, I decided not to waste any saffron on this dish; it would have been overpowered. If the argument is that the saffron is to give it color...the curry and cayenne already gave enough color to the dish. Moreover, the original recipe recommended double cream for this dish. I just used 1% milk.

Here are the ingredients I used:
1.5 cups long grain rice
3 cups boiling water
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tbs curry powder
1 tsp cayenne pepper
1/2 tsp thyme
3 boiled eggs, yolks pushed through a screen, and whites chopped coarsely
2 tbs butter
3 tbs chopped parsley

for the fish, I used
1 smoked haddock fillet
1/2 cup milk
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp curry powder
5 cracks of pepper

Melt butter in a milk pan, and add spices and rice. Allow to sizzle for about 4 minutes, toasting the rice and the spices. Then add three cups of boiling water, salt and thyme. Cover, and allow to boil rapidly for 15 minutes, then reduce heat to lowest setting, and let sit for another 10 minutes, until all the water is absorbed.

Meanwhile, put pepper, salt and curry powder into the milk and bring to a gentle simmer. Poach the fillet of fish about 4 minutes each side. Removed the skin before flaking the fish.  Just flake it directly in the pan, keeping the poaching fluid.

Fold the flaked smoked fish, poaching liquid, chopped boiled eggs, and 2.5 tbs parsley into the rice. Garnish with remaining 1/2 tbs of parsley.

This dish is very bland. Make sure to serve along with a loaded salt shaker. With just a bit of salt, the flavour of this dish really pulls through. The recipe recommended serving with lemon...I actually found the acidity of the lemon to be too distracting to the kedgeree. I preferred it without lemon.

I find this dish to be interesting. But, to be honest, I'm not won over by it. I'm glad to have tried it, but cannot imagine making it again. I think I'll make fish cakes with my remaining fillet of smoked haddock.

Fries on Steroids

So, I was hungry.
I decked out the frozen curly fries, popped them in the oven. While I was waiting, I whipped up some fresh mayo -- put mustard, paprika, garlic, parsley, scallions, salt, pepper, 2 yolks, 2 hits of lemon juice, and a bit of zest.
I topped the fries with the mayo, garnishing with radishes.
Then, I proceeded to inhale the stuff -- it was so good.

Since I didn't have a whisk, I had to use a fork. But, it worked out.

Greek Yogurt with English Lemon Curd, topped with Granola:

An unlikely mix of ingredients, creating a truly sapid bowl of goodness.

I just had a grilling session with both of my doctoral supervisors together today. I have to admit, as well as it went, I was a bit stressed out by it. Being in the hot seat for one straight hour is not fun, though incredibly enriching. There's a lot of work to be done till I boil down my project to something more than just another idea.

Nevertheless, to celebrate the completion of the day, I decided to raid my pantry for a treat. I picked up a tub of Greek yogurt (I got the iconic Fage brand Total yogurt), a jar of store-brand (ASDA) Lemon Curd, and a box of store-brand (Tesco) granola (the box calls them "oat clusters") that contains plenty of freeze-dried strawberry slices in it.

The yogurt is simply magic to the tongue and mind -- thick, creamy, rich, just tart enough, grounding one immediately in a state of gustatory wellness. To start, I treated myself to a  spoon of it, with honey drizzled on top -- the perfect way to prime my appetite. Then, I decided to try something new -- I mixed 1 tablespoon of lemon curd into 2/3 cups of yogurt, and then sprinkled granola on top. This turned out to be one of the best things I've ever had. Mary Poppins was onto something with her measuring tape: put this bowl up to it, and it will also say "practically perfect in every way."

The sweet and sour nature of the lemon curd only enhanced the brightness of the Greek Yogurt. The thickness of it is simply heavenly, with a density similar to Labna, but with a little more air incorporated into it.  The crunchiness of the granola, and the sour strawberries further enhanced the well balanced citrusy yogurt. I'm eating it right now as I'm writing...can't get enough of it. Need a pick-me-up? Go grab a bowl of this fine stuff and tell me what you think. After all, the proof is in the pudding. Bon Appetit!

Reinventing Leftovers with Reggae Reggae Sauce:

The Makings of Seared “Jerked” Pork Chops, with Spicy Roasted Vegetable Pilaf
1 November, 2009, Cambridge, UK



I had a bunch of roasted root vegetables that I was getting tired of eating, day after day. They are relics of an, otherwise, wonderful side that accompanied a roasted chicken I had about a fortnight ago. They include roasted potatoes, rutabaga (what is called “swede” in the British vernacular), parsnips, and carrots. I’ve stretched my imagination on how to “extend” the life of them, having made home fries, vegetarian hash, omelets, and frittatas. As I ran out of ideas on how to reinvent the damned things, it became clear that they were at the end of the plank.

Right before I pushed them into the freezer, I decided to see the extent to which Reggae Reggae Sauce* can, to use their slogan, “put some music in [my] food.” Here’s how the experiment went, and it took 15 minutes of prep time, marinating/thawing overnight, and about 35-40 minutes to cook, of which most of it consists of waiting, and no participation.

I marinated two frozen pork chops with the sauce – just poured enough to coat each one on both sides, and left it in the fridge overnight to defrost and marinate.

At hand, just lying around the fridge, I had ½ a yellow bell pepper, a scotch bonnet pepper, and ½ an onion; I diced these finely. I also defrosted the remaining cup and a half of roasted vegetables in the microwave. Poured 1 ½ cups of long grain rice, got 3 cups of water heated in a water boiler.

Scraping the marinade off of the pork chops, and patting them dry, reserving the marinade on the side, I heated about 1 tablespoon of olive oil in a milk pan, on high, and seared the pork chops for about 4 minutes per side. I set these aside on a plate to continue cooking on top of the rice later on. With the remaining oil in the pan, I put my chopped onions and peppers into the pan, and browned these, then added the rice to coat and slightly toast the rice for about 5 minutes, then fortifying it with about 1 tablespoon of chicken base that I had made earlier (reduced 5 cups of chicken stock, that I made from the roast chicken, down to ½ a cup). While toasting the rice, I had poured boiling into the vessel containing the leftover marinade, and poured it directly onto the rice. Then I added the roasted vegetables. Stirred everything together; got everything to a rapid boil, and then covered the pan and reduced it to a medium boil. I continued to cook this for about 20 minutes. Placing the seared pork chops on top of the cooking rice, I reduced the heat to the lowest setting, and cooked everything for about another 8 minutes before turning off the heat.

Removing the meat from the rice, I let them rest for about 5 minutes. While waiting, I fluffed the rice and let it cool down to a safe-temperature to eat. I then thinly sliced the pork chops, which were quite juicy, and then dressed them with 1 ½ tsp of chili oil, and about 1 tablespoon of Reggae Reggae Sauce. I spooned some of the pilaf onto a plate and top with some of the meat, and topped it off with some hot sauce. This was tasty, and I ended up eating more of it than I should.

*Reggae Reggae Sauce is a Jamaican jerk sauce. It is dark brown, malty in its flavor, slightly sweet, and mildly acidic, with a viscosity of loose ketchup, but with a bit more texture. The flavor is complex, almost like Worcestershire sauce, but with a sweetness similar, but less pronounced as Bulldog brand tonkatsu sauce from Japan, or HP brand British Brown Sauce, only with a stronger bouquet from the herbs and spices of Jerk seasoning.

An Unfriendly Swap: Formal Hall Gone Awry at Downing College

31 October, 2009

On the eve of All Hallow’s Eve, Peterhouse’s MCR went to Downing College’s Formal Hall. Though it was Halloween themed, NO ONE from Downing was wearing their academic gown. This is an amusing observation from my perspective as a Petrean: if not other Petreans, then the Porter, would chide a Petrean who dares show up to Formal Hall without his/her gowns.

This aside, the hall at Downing was very pleasant, reminiscent of the Rotunda of the American Museum of Natural History, both in terms of its color scheme – warm beige marble columns, scalloped and rectangular wave-like trim across the top of the Hall, with gilded highlights throughout. The hall speaks of grandness, but in the language of the gilded age, which would be appropriate for the relative youthfulness of the college, which was founded in 1800; Cambridge was founded c. 1209, Peterhouse in 1284.

I got lost within Downing’s gianormous campus. As a result, I was late and the first course was already being served by the time I entered Formal Hall. There was a fair representation of witches, devils, crazies (in straight jackets or Hannibal Lector-esque attire) and a fair number of people in US Air Force pilot outfits (apparently, it’s “awesome” to dress up like Americans, says one of the Brits wearing these outfits) in Hall. Petreans were definitely the best-dressed group – we had a few witches, and our MCR president had an orange cone for his hat. But for the most part, including myself, it looked as if Petreans decided to be Wall Streeters for this Formal Hall – we mostly wore suits and button-down shirts.

Dinner was strange. The first course was a mildly spicy tomato soup with an herbed scone. The latter was more interesting, both in terms of flavour and texture, than the former. The main course was a steak, topped with fried whitebait; the fish were better than the steak, which was medium-well, but too tough to be enjoyable. The sauce for the main course was a green, reminiscent of Slimer’s ectoplasm form the Ghost Busters. When the sauce was brought to our table, we had to ask the server what it was, and whether the right sauce was provided for our meal: no one would expect a turbid green sauce for their steaks, at least not outside of Downing. The server, himself, did not know what it was. He had to run to the kitchen to find out what it is – a garlic-parsley gravy, which tasted neither of garlic or parsley; more like a mildly wet, and insipid gravy that not only did not have any character outside of its ectoplasmic green-ness, but did not add anything, not even a noticeable difference in the moisture in my steak. Desert was the best course, though certainly not as good as what I would expect: pumpkin pie; though we had pumpkin tarts, a la mode, this evening. Turns out, pumpkin pie is the traditional Halloween dish. Downing’s was too eggy: I wanted a lighter, smoother, more pumpkiny tart.

Then came the after-the-dinner port, which was tightly rationed by a member of the Downing MCR. Petreans have no inhibitions about finishing port. At Downing, getting a second serving warrants a verbal reprimand. When I asked for another glass, a member of the Downing MCR unjokingly said “You know, I really shouldn’t be doing this.” I gave a cheeky smile, which communicated enough to get me the second glass anyway. With these sensibilities, one can only begin to imagine why, amongst other reasons, the Downing High Table was conspicuously empty, though Hall was packed to the gills.

                                topped with green ectoplasm sauce....

All things considered, the point of Formal Hall is not entirely about eating well. If one makes the mistake of thinking that it is purely a gustatory function, one misses the fact that Formal Hall is about enjoying oneself amongst fellow Cantabrigians and guests. Moreover, I also have the goal to go to every Cambridge college’s Formal Hall before I graduate. Hence, going to Downing was not disappointing. However, the point of this being a Formal Hall Swap was lost: the Downing MCR largely kept to themselves, and did not even bother to talk to or sit with the Peterhouse MCR. Apparently, their understanding is that an MCR swap is merely a change of setting for their guests from the other colleges – not an opportunity to chat with other Cantabrigians. Fortunately, there are 29 other Formal Halls to go to. So, stay tuned for more: the Formal Hall swap with Christ College is next.

No Wands Here: A Reflection, Twenty Five Days Since Arrival

With sleeves streaming behind me, I walked through town wearing my flowing black gown: I was going to Formal Hall. The sleeves are rectangular, flaring slightly outward, hanging down to my ankles when I am standing still, sewn shut to form a pocket -- a perfect place to stash a bottle or two. My arms come out of sleeve about a third of the way down the sleeve. This is not peculiar; it is simply what we do in Cantabrigia, where ceremony and tradition are taken very seriously.

Formal Hall is a four to five course dinner, with wine, and occasionally port, served strictly by candlelight, in our extraordinarily ornamented, ancient, and cavernous Hall at Peterhouse.  There are three lengths of long tables going down the Hall. At the head of the hall is the High Table, which is oriented perpendicular to the other long tables, and reserved only for the Master and Fellows and their guests. On the walls of the Hall are magnificent stained glass windows, portraits and crests of the college's founders and significant benefactors gazing at us as we dine. Academic gowns are mandatory for Petreans dining at the Peterhouse Formal Hall. All the other colleges of Cambridge also have Formal Hall, may they be in even grander Halls or austerely-modern ones.

Saint John's Hall (bottom) vs. St. Edmund's' Hall (top)

In the time that I have been here, I have re-established my pantry, which was hard work for someone who is as obsessed with food as I am; I have bought a bike; I have bought my gown; I have lost one of my two bike keys; I have had a Chelsea Bun; I have locked myself out of my room after taking a shower, and had to break into it by jumping in through the window; I have discovered that marzipan in the UK is dirt cheap (only 73p!); I have had good puddings; I have had horrible puddings; I roasted a chicken; I made broth out of the remains of the chicken; I have reduced said broth down to a concentrated base; I have had the best figs ever.

While I may have done a lot so far, there are still more things to do. For example, I want to attend Formal Hall at EVERY SINGLE ONE of the 31 colleges in Cambridge. So far, I have only succeeded in Formal Halls at Peterhouse. I go to Downing is this week...and Christ next month.